Tag Archives: am writing



window cat

It was time to wash the windows and I wondered where to start.

“I have an idea,” meowed a familiar voice.

And I knew the idea would require much of me. So I pretended not to listen and began to gather up some cleaning materials. It really didn’t matter so much where I started. All the windows needed cleaning.

“Just start,” I thought.


“Oh yes,” she purred. Anywhere indeed.

I smiled.

So allow me to present to you my cat. She shows up in my writing from time to time. Her full name is Annie B Whiskers the Mafia Cat. The B stands for Bonino and I usually call her Mrs. Bonino or Annie. She is 7 years old, which I think means that she is 49. The very same age that I am. This is the one year that will be the case. Next year I will be 50 and she will be 56. We are getting older, she and I.

She tells me important things and sometimes I ignore them. I do not like her advice about men for example. She is usually correct but does not pussyfoot around when it comes to the truth. I like the truth but sometimes I like to control the timing a little.

Besides, her experience with males is pretty pathetic so I do not think she is in a position to point her little Bonino paw at me.

Oh yes, we are talking about windows and I have gotten sidetracked by the topic of “men” again. I am on a “man” break at the moment. In recovery so to speak.

So yes…the windows.

Annie was staring at me. “Are you going to start inside or outside?” she asked. “Doesn’t much matter,” I said. “ Does it?”

“Depends,” she said,“on whether you can see what you miss from each side. Sometimes if you start on the outside, you miss the inside bits. And then when you go inside you realize you have missed a couple of outside bits and when you go to fix them… well – anyways its up to you of course.” And she hopped up on the sofa.

“So you are saying maybe I should start on the inside?” I asked.

“Not at all, she said. “Like you said, just start.”
“Great,” I thought to myself. Because I knew I was missing something. Now it mattered to me where to start.

Annie was snoring. With her eyes wide open. Not purring. Snoring. I reached over the sofa where she lay and sprayed a little window cleaner on the glass. As I began to wipe, she began to snore more quietly and her eyes closed and she fell into her afternoon cat coma. I cleaned and polished and checked and cleaned. When I thought it was perfect, I slipped on my shoes and popped out to do the outside next.

This time I used a bit stronger cleaner in a bucket and I really scrubbed and dried and polished. I looked through the window and saw my little friend still curled up sleeping and twitching away.


“Pretty good,” I smiled, satisfied with myself. Now I was really in the mood to do the rest. I went in to admire my work and to begin the next window.


Little smudges.


I looked at my cat with her eyes closed and I knew she was wide awake. I leaned over her and tried to polish the spots that were clearly on the outside.

“I think I need help,” I said aloud to no one in particular.

“Exactly,” came a nod from the couch.

Thanks, Mrs. B.


Catherine MacAdam

Image source: Heritage Cat Clinic



Blessed are the man and the woman who have grown beyond their

greed and have put an end to their hatred and no longer nourish

illusions. But they delight in the way things are and keep their

hearts open, day and night. They are like trees planted near flowing

rivers, which bear fruit when they are ready. Their leaves will not

fall or wither; everything they do will succeed. ~ Psalm 1


She spit mud which landed –

On his spear

He aimed and she was nearly dead

Behind his shield he stood and wept

His heart was hiding

In her mess of 4 long years of words and love

And long, long nights of building this


It is not finished but it is done

And weeping falls on tear baked mud


Lay down and I will climb between

Your shield, your heart and it is real

This story we have made of us

A long cold walk to where the road

Is edged by trees and ancient growth


Lay down and I will climb between

My other days, my other fears

I will cover where we meet

With fur of bear and antelope


A dying starts to sing a song

A song that prays for safer days

And she will keep his corners warm

And he will never walk away

And she will never be the same


I felt you shrink into a bird

Inside my trembling, frightened hands

You can fly; I know you can

And I can wait and turn my face

Until we find our way again..


Catherine MacAdam


Vegetable soup

Eat your vegetables

Written on my forehead

Written on my mirror too

Eat your vegetables

Try and do what’s good for you…

I like my tomatoes with mayonnaise – lots of it

With salt and pepper on toasted bread

An avocado for dessert

A whole one – I eat it slowly with a spoon

Good for me and good for you…

Full of nuts and vineyard fruit –

On my forehead peeling truth

Vegetables are good for you

Pulling out the chocolate

Melting for the final time – or maybe not

I am getting good at this

Eating what is bad for me

Serving what is good for you

I am eating chocolate

And dipping vegetables for you

Once again the miAbstract Body Photography Jes dancerror claims

Her bowl of bruised and spoiled fruit

Choosing what is good for you

But not for me…

Sticky words and bitter truth

What is good for you is poisoning my appetite

As I drink the vacant juice you left beside your dirty plate

And as I clean and scrape and grate

My forehead words into a soup

Of lies, of poison and of you


Catherine MacAdam

Image Source: Abstract Body Photography Jes dance



Pentimento – Visible evidence of an alteration to a painting or drawing that indicates the artist changed their mind while executing the painting. This can leave an effect where ‘ghosting’ lines from the original design can be seen through the thinning paint.

Between the scenes and telling me that honesty dreamed dreams of me I found the oddest little seed that promised not reality…not quite real – and yet the dream left finger prints of seeds on me.

I did not leave them knowingly or if I did their scattering had left the sense that what I see was only you and was not me…

But in between…

Crisp the air between us feeds the need to follow and to lead; at once this song was dancing me and I was in its grasp.

Love is all about belief and casts its light indelibly where morning meets the grassy eve and leaves the dew of honesty.

You gave your place with shy retreat and slipped back in so quietly.

Do you watch where I have been and trace a path and watch again as I encounter covering that lets me try again…

The shadows warm and shelter me and there is light between these dreams. Call them back and I will find their gentle path to what we see and what we cover in between…

Catherine MacAdam

Image Source: Vanitas Stilleven – Omgeving Rembrandt


Screen dppr

The wind slides through

My torn screen door

Hanging on

The bugs creep in

The flies come home

Sometimes I can hear them moan

The long slow death of a filter queen

Sounds a bit like a mating scream

Sounds so tempting

But not so clean

Come on in right through the screen

Take my hand and then take me

I saw an angel in the street

She lay among the flies and oil

I took and washed her sockless feet

And then I watched her turn to me

Her back was open

Torn it seemed

The wind came through

Her moaning back

Torn and formless

As they screamed

The flies and bugs

Gave thanks to me


Catherine MacAdam

Image Source: Marta Syrko, Musetouch.


Black bird

A circle caught my

Thoughts today

Placed me

And my place was found

Once again

Restored my faith

History and next are one

So moving on is moving through

It seems I caught and passed myself

Just in time to start again

It does not matter to me how

The new beginning came

Or how it found me in this place

And gave me peace

And showed me grace

Around and back we seem to dance

And birth ourselves another chance

One by one

We share this too

Always old

Always new


Catherine MacAdam

Image Source: Pinterest



You’ll be alright here on your own
The question jerked my not so fast
But there was never time to wait
And think about the what to do

Nodding was the only choice
And sadness lifted all again
My skirts of hidden wondering
Folding in their careful pleats

Alright is what I always am
Except when morning darkness seeps
Just before the scraping dawn
Is this a test of loyalty

I wonder once again…
Or maybe just a test of fate
Where drifting days
Have learned to stay
Alone and waiting on the edge
And balancing my wasting love
With staying always true to faith

Behind you is a line I see
Drawn in nightmare shades of gray

And so I ask you please to come
For you, for us and yes for me
I do not know what else to do
And so my days are balancing

My morning dark
My waiting time


Catherine MacAdam


raining trees

Its kind of curious what we do.

What I do – what we do

Did you ever think of that

Or do you try to never think

Between my bones are stones that grow

Old stones and new stones

I throw my stones across the sea

They are looking for a home for me

The trees are full of birds and rain

And underneath the car a kitten sleeps

Winter is this water dream

That soaks the trees and cleanses me

Who did not eat today – who had no food

Who did not eat today – who had too much

And as for me – I over ate

I often do

Charity is missing clues

And clues are underneath the moon

A blue and scathing winter moon

Dont say a word

Dont catch a single thing

Removal of the openings

I contemplate the muddy streams

Between the street and you and me

I will try and so will you and I will help you try

I know tonight that we will fail

And maybe every night to come

But one day we may suddenly

Remember what we needed now

And it will be too late or it will be okay

Underneath the raining trees

I catch the rain and close my coat

I keep my promises inside

And wait and wait and wait for Spring

Reading in between the lines

Spring is not a certainty

And yet I wait inside my coat

Underneath the raining trees.

I wait for you and pray for Spring

Catherine MacAdam